


A Wreck Ignition

by hjea



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5344334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjea/pseuds/hjea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya owe Gaby a new car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wreck Ignition

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure indulgent silliness, written by someone who neither knows anything--nor cares to--about cars. But I care about Gaby, and SHE cares about cars. And the boys really do owe her a new one. 
> 
> Thanks to [Xtine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/xtinethepirate) for the once over, and for sending me all the terrible car puns.

“So,” Gaby announced suddenly, a week after they settled into the new U.N.C.L.E. headquarters in London. “You both owe me a new car.” 

Napoleon and Illya looked up in unison from where they sat pouring over a file together. Gaby stood straight, hands at her hips, relishing the rare opportunity to loom over them both. 

Napoleon, typically, reacted first. “Is that right, Fräulein Teller?” He asked, with a cool raise of his eyebrow. 

Equal to it, Gaby raised both hers back. “It is. You,” she jabbed a finger in Napoleon’s direction, “ _borrowed_ my car for race through East Berlin that ended with it wedged between two buildings from _you_ ,” she rounded on Illya, “who I have not forgotten also shot out my tires and ripped the back off the car and _threw_ it at us.” 

Illya shrugged, although he did have the decency to look a little remorseful. “You were escaping and I was following orders. Besides, you caused much of your own damage.” There was open admiration in Illya’s voice that Napoleon wasn’t above rolling his eyes at. “You drive like maniac.” 

“Yes well.” Gaby preened a little at the remark. “You know how I learned to drive like a maniac?” By _having a car_.” She poked both their shoulders to emphasize her point. “You’ve got a week to find me one. Get to it.” 

\---

Three days later, Illya stood arms crossed and scowling in perfect form as Napoleon strolled through rows of cars. 

“ _This_ is where you want to find car for Gaby?” 

“Yes.” Napoleon spun around to look over his sunglasses at Illya, and then back across the fenced-in yard. “Why ever not?” 

“This place is…” Illya shifted from one foot to the other as his scowl--impressively--deepened, “...not legal.” 

Napoleon actually guffawed. “I’m sorry! But do you not recall what kind of establishment Gaby was working in when you chased us out of East Germany, Peril?” Napoleon’s voice dropped as he mocked Illya gently. “Little chop shop girl, isn’t it?” 

Illya snorted but said nothing. 

“Come on. Gaby would be disappointed in us if we didn’t pick her out something without a little bit of… history. Besides, some of George’s stock is completely above board. ...Pretty much.” Napoleon grinned as a stocky man in coveralls approached them. “Isn’t that right, George?” 

George nodded at Napoleon amiably. “Solo.” He looked up at Illya. “And who are you then?” 

“You do not need to know.” Illya ground out from between his teeth. 

George seemed unperturbed by the response. “Fair enough. What can I do for you boys?” 

“George, we are here for a car.” 

Behind him, Illya sighed loudly. 

Napoleon plowed ahead, deftly ignoring him. “I was thinking about that one.” He pointed to a little powder blue Citroën three cars down the row. 

“No.” Illya stepped forward, head shaking definitely. “Is not a good car for Gaby.” 

“Why ever not, Peril?” 

“Wrong colour.” 

Napoleon shot Illya an exasperated glare. “What do you mean it’s the wrong colour?” 

“Light blue is not a good colour for her.”

“For God’s sake, Peril, she won’t be _wearing_ the damn car” 

“Still applies.” Illya jutted out his chin stubbornly. “And the stitching on those seats is of very bad quality.” 

\---

In the end, the car they begrudgingly agreed on was an inoffensive dark forest green with dark leather interior. It would be good camouflage for any espionage work that might arise, while colourful enough for Napoleon’s need to peacock himself and the entire world around him, and well-tailored enough to suit Illya’s own surprising brand of snobbery. They had both nearly tripped over each other when George had pointed to a newly-arrived MG Roadster on his lot--even Illya’s scruples forgotten in the face of the car’s beauty--until realizing that if Gaby was going to drive all three of them around, as seemed likely, they would need something that at least had a backseat. 

Napoleon beat Illya to the driver’s side and grinned smugly as Illya folded himself ungraciously into the passenger seat beside him, muttering darkly in Russian for much of the drive back home. 

They pulled up in the drive of the non-descript building UNCLE had assigned to them just as Gaby walked up, and Napoleon smartly hopped out and rounded the car with a small flourish. Illya took more time to extricate himself, his eyes trained on Gaby’s face the whole time to judge her reaction.. 

They waited. 

After a moment, Napoleon waved his hand impatiently. “So, Gaby? What do you think?” 

Gaby stared at the car from behind her oversized sunglasses, arms crossed and foot tapping contemplatively. “Hmm.” She finally managed, before she stepped quickly towards the front of the car and expertly propped up the hood. She shook her head. “Just what I thought.” She snorted dismissively. “British engineering.” 

She removed her sunglasses and laid them aside before poked at something deep within the engine block. “Did you even look at the engine before you paid for this thing?” 

“Well we drove it here, didn’t we?” Napoleon replied. 

“Yes, and if it made the noises I’m assuming it did when you turned it on then that should have been your first clue.” Gaby shook her head again and leaned further into the car. “Underpowered, shoddy electrical work…” she muttered to herself. “This is going to take more time than I’d hoped.”

“Oh, come on.” Napoleon turned to Illya for support, but the other man was too busy staring at Gaby with a distinctly contrite look on his face to notice Napoleon. “It’s nearly new, it’s got great mileage, and it’s got a top-of-the-line radio installed. It’s a great choice, Gaby.” 

This caught Illya’s attention enough that he nodded and managed to add, “Yes, has excellent design.” 

Gaby merely rolled her eyes at them both. “Well it’s here now, I may as well get to work.”With a resigned sigh she shrugged out of her coat. Before Illya could step forward to take it from her, she balled the coat up and used it as a cushion as she bent over the engine block. 

Napoleon and Illya squawked in synchronized indignance. 

“That’s Dior!” 

Gaby straightened, face and dress already bearing the first traces of engine grease, and shot them a wickedly knowing look. “Then perhaps you should have thought of that before bringing me a woefully inadequate piece of engineering.” She dove back into the engine. “Napoleon, I think there’s some tools in the garage around back.” Her commands were somewhat muffled as she disappeared even further into the engine. “And Illya if you could find something I could use as a creeper.” 

Napoleon and Illya looked at each other. 

“ _Now_.”

**Author's Note:**

> _“The British roadsters of the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s are remembered with a surprisingly intense nostalgic fondness. MGs, Triumphs, Austin-Healeys, Bugeye Sprites--they were all cute, light, and inordinately fun with the top down on a twisty road. Never mind the fact that with the top up or on an Interstate, one tended to notice the fact that they were terrifically underpowered, rode and handled like agricultural implements, and had an off-putting tendency to develop major electrical problems on dark nights at points on the map both inconvenient and uninhabited.”[x](http://www.carlustblog.com/2007/09/fiat-124-spider.html) _


End file.
